Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!
People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
By-and-by is easily said.
Opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes—and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.